


i'll borrow time

by nbsherlock



Series: i follow you [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ficlet, M/M, im sorry, this is miserable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbsherlock/pseuds/nbsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>these words are meant only for his ears but flood into mine</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll borrow time

The fire is warm but it doesn’t help the chill in my bones. 

\--

Watson is sitting next to me, in his armchair. He’s looking into the fire but keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. he thinks I don’t notice. I do. 

I wring my hands together. He is at home but i cannot think of a single thing to say. A single thing to do. Nothing to express my gratitude at having him by my side. 

He clears his throat. I jolt in my seat. He is always startling me. 

“Holmes…” he pauses, his mustache twitches. I wish to press my mouth to it, to the crease between his brows. I wish to smooth him out. He looks down to his feet. “I’m rather happy to be home.”

The words pound violently in my chest. I feel as though I may need resuscitation. I have a sweet vision of myself, lying stock-still on the floor, Watson wrapping his lips around mine, breathing his life into me. 

I look to him. 

“I am glad you are home as well."

He stands. He walks away from the fire. I want to follow him. I stand as well. 

“Holmes,” he says, voice rough with things unsaid, with tears not shed. 

He breathes. I can see his muscles work as he shifts into a soldier’s stance. It is erotic, transfixing. I wish to feel those muscles move under my hands. 

“John,” I reply.

His shoulders curl back in on themselves. I walk over to him. I place a hand on his shoulder. 

He starts. I begin to ease up but he reaches up to place his hand atop mine. He takes it in his. 

He drags it down in front of him. 

I can not see what he’s doing, cannot process it until I feel the smooth press of his lips against my skin, the tickle of his mustache against my knuckles. He turns my palm over, presses his lips, again, to my pulse point. It races, only for him. 

“Perhaps in another century,” he whispers. These words are meant only for his ears but they flood into mine, sounding extraordinarily loud for something said so softly. 

He releases my hand and makes his way upstairs to his bedroom. 

As his door closes, I let my eyes fall shut. Two errant tears slide down my cheeks.

“Perhaps.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first ficlet in a collection of ficlets that will have nothing to do with eachother.   
> i'm over at stopmartinfreeman or waterwltch on tumblr.


End file.
